Yawn! Here goes another week. My daughter will shout from the top of the stairs "Mum have you made my sandwiches?"
Hubby will scurry around for his car keys and then ask me for his clean uniform. The TV is on for no other reason than the morning news, which does not concern me. It plays to itself in the corner. The day looks fine, I'm in my pyjamas, but wait -- not for long, I'm off to the hospital for an appointment with my GI man.
I hate the long drive through endless road works and then there's the parking! Oh it's a nightmare. I'll be with the doctor for 5 minutes, even though it's taken more than an hour to get there and then I have to get home and repeat the journey.
I don't know what I expect from the consultation. What more can this man do? Nothing has changed and I don't suppose he's found a cure since my last visit so what's the point of going then?
My first Raynaud's attack happened at 7.10am when I delved into the fridge for butter. My daughter's ham sandwich comes with a cost. I place the ham on the bread like it's burning my fingers, but in truth it's so cold that I drop it with an "Ouch!" It's 7.30am and my fingers are in spasm. Still the sandwiches are done and now it's me time!
What shall I wear? The day looks fine, dare I venture outdoors without a jacket? Should I wear a vest? Perhaps not, the doctor already thinks I'm weird (my assumption not his) it's half the consultation gone just peeling off the layers; in fact these days he merely enquires about my health rather than having a prod. I think he's given up or he's just too over familiar with my abdomen.
So here goes a not so typical Monday! This is one day I'm wishing to be over!